Three Sides of a Coin
by Tony Samuels
Summary: Harry Potter is in love for the first time. Daphne Greengrass is obsessed with a new mystery. Fleur Delacour is fascinated by her protector. Nymphadora Tonks hates her new co-worker. And everyone else is plain confused. A Consultant Auror, a Mercenary for Hire, and the Boy-who-lived walk into a game. Only one person walks out. A Multiple Personalities Fiction.
1. Twists and Turns

**This is a Multiple Personalities Fiction.**

 **Pairings: Harry/ Daphne, Harry/ Fleur and Harry/ Tonks. This is not a Harem.**

 **Disclaimer: An intricate web of memories and feelings, splattered with a multitude of colors, are experiences. Every experience has a facet, a different perspective under a different lens and experiences are the basis of Personality. Then isn't it strange that we possess a unique, unitary personality or is it that we simply lack perspective?**

 **I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

At the darkest hour on a Friday night, a lone silhouette crossed the entrance to the Auror department in the Ministry.

His footsteps were light, the movement appearing as though he was gliding on air, and the meager wind that managed to flow through these labyrinthine corridors couldn't ruffle the hem of the long, black cloak that nipped at his heels. A woolen cap adorned his head, hiding all of his curly dark hair except the few strands that escaped through the gaps, and the scarf tied around his neck obscured his sharp, beardless chin. His recalcitrant stance ensured that his robes only revealed his bright, sapphire blue eyes to anyone who found themselves curious.

Though such a secretive attire was overkill at a time when only a dozen people could be found wandering around, it was a necessary effort.

His ten-minute walk from one end of the Auror department to the other end finally brought him to the long corridor which led to one of the most unattended places in the department: The Archives. If Fudge was making up for the lack of quality Aurors with blatant disorganization to confuse spies then it was certainly working.

The light from the hall dimmed in intensity as he continued his steady pace down the corridor until his gait was abruptly ended at a door, unlit and ominous. He knocked on the door without much fanfare, unfazed by the drama, and the head of a bedraggled woman poked out. Her hair was a mess, with about half of it twisting and poking out of her ponytail, and the dark circles under her eyes did nothing to improve her appearance.

She peered into the darkness to see who's at the door at this time of the hour but found no one to her consternation. She rubbed at her eyes and shook her head, berating herself for imagining odd sounds – just another problem out of the million she was facing that night. She closed the door behind her and took a step forward, only to stumble back in fright. Her back hit the door and her wand appeared between her fingers.

There was a stranger leaning against her desk, facing her with a single folder in their hands.

It would've been scariest moment of her life if the man hadn't started rambling all of sudden. "Ah, excuse me. I was hoping I could leave without interfering but I find it a little strange that this case file has just a single paper. The case was filed nearly three months ago, regarding the disappearance of a ministry employee and yet all the information our nosy ministry could gather on her was _this_? Improbable..."

She did not lower her wand but he didn't appear concerned.

"There should be little to no chances of tampering. This is not a high profile case, is it? The woman was well known among colleagues yet isn't well-regarded. They are ones best to gossip about so it isn't an issue of negligence or forgetfulness. Sirius Black isn't caught, there is nothing happening except Quidditch, and there are plenty of members to spare to take up the case. Then why is it that only after three months later do they assign someone to this case?"

Only after finishing his monologue did he meet her eyes, blue on brown. "Something doesn't fit. Don't you think so, Ms. Rivera?"

"Wh-what?" she almost dropped her wand as his attention shifted to her. "How do you know my name?"

"It's on the tag," he responded dryly, pointing a finger at her badge. The letters 'Julie Rivera' were engraved into the metal in a flowery scribble.

An embarassed flush crept up her throat but she didn't budge. "And who are you?"

"Har–Harold," he tipped his hat, bringing it down further as though to hide his forehead. If his name 'Harry' was short for something, he had no idea about it, and Hedwig was the best example that he couldn't come up with stylish, modern names to save his life. "Harold Grim."

The resultant frown on her face at his peculiar name didn't abate until he dug into his cloak to conjure a badge – a shiny, metallic, silver-tinted one with the words 'Consultant Auror' engraved under the name 'Harold Grim.'

"Consultant Auror?" She whispered under her breath in confusion, unaware of any such job existing in the Auror forces.

"To put it simply, Ms. Rivera, when our Aurors find themselves out of their depth, which happens a little too often than you might guess, they seek assistance from experts," he pocketed the hastily conjured badge before his audience could get suspicious. "I am the expert."

A shimmer of comprehension entered her eyes, like the times when you meet a famous person you don't really know but pretend to be a fan. "It must be a difficult job..."

Harry gave a cryptic smile in response. "It's exciting enough."

"So you're here for your case files, Mr. Grim?" she asked, walking forward a little more confidently now that she knew his identity.

"Harold, please. Mr. Grim is too grim for my taste," he commented, eliciting an involuntary chuckle out of her. The Archives manager was almost standing beside him now, peeking over the folder to catch a glimpse of the single sheet of information they called a case file.

"Now, this _is_ weird," she furrowed her brows as she scanned the paper. "I knew Bertha. Last I heard, she was helping Mr. Crouch with a tournament or something. The whole thing was really hush hush even here in the ministry."

' _Tournament? Is it the Quidditch world cup? But why is there the need to be secretive if its Quidditch?'_ Harry mused to himself. ' _Crouch Sr.? Isn't he the head of magical relations, cooperation or something...then this must be something that involves different countries..."_

"Harold?" Rivera spoke out hesitantly when Harry began to mumble to himself. That shook the Consultant Auror out of his reverie. "Um, I don't think I can be of much help here...I just take care of the records."

"Believe me, you're doing better work than half the Auror department," Harry replied without skipping a beat, making her shift her gaze bashfully. "But what I don't get is how such a high profile case just slipped under the radar."

"I can check who accessed the file before, maybe that might help you?"

Harry blinked, as though the notion of someone willing to pitch in a little effort was foreign to him. "Yes, that would be great."

Rivera twisted on her heels with an urgency that honestly unnerved the consultant, and rushed over to the shelves containing thousands of folders. She shuffled through the documents like a woman possessed until she stumbled upon a relatively recent file. "Here! What's the case number?"

"12794," Harry replied, watching her intently as she shuffled through the parchments. But when the seconds slowly trickled down into minutes, he began to cede another victory to ministry disorganization.

Harry: 0 Ministry: 96

"I found it!" The words never sounded so sweet when heard from another mouth. "Case number: 12794. There's only one entry here...says that this file was accessed almost a month ago by... _An Auror trainee?"_

The grin that formed on Harry's face could probably frighten a Death Eater. He ambled over to the shelves and glanced at the name written on a corner of the brown parchment.

 _Nymphadora Tonks._

Her first name was penned in a chicken scrawl, seeming barely legible whereas her second name was written in neat cursive. It wouldn't take a genius to deduce how she liked to be addressed. The grin playing on Harry's lips only got wider as he remembered the image of a pink-haired, bubbly girl and then the picture of the same girl but now in an Auror uniform, trying to seem threatening but which only served to earn more teasing from him.

Finally! A truly interesting case. No details. A villain who left no mark of his steps. Interference from a third party. A single clue connected to a character who was as clumsy as she was captivating.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the exhilaration of an impending chase pumping adrenaline through his body while his mind started going through all the possible scenarios and deductions.

It's a wonder he wasn't already shivering from excitement.

"Harold, y-you're shaking," the voice of the Archives manager broke through his euphoria.

Harry gazed down to find his hands trembling until he released the breath he didn't know he was holding. This little detour in the middle of the night turned out to be more productive than he expected. He withdrew the case file no. 12794 from the folder in his hands and slipped it into his pocket; Not that anyone would miss it.

"Thank you, Ms. Rivera," Harry inclined his head in gratitude. "It's always a pleasant surprise to find someone competent here."

She nodded shyly and fidgeted in her place before finding the courage to speak out. "You're welcome, Mr. Gr – I mean, Harold."

Harry gave another bow of his head and turned on his heels to walk out of the room. Just as he was about to close the door behind him, the Archive Manager rushed over to him and stopped by the door.

"Um, if you ever need any more assistance, I'll be happy to help," she blurted out and then flushed a bright red at her own boldness.

"It gets boring here..." she reasoned unconvincingly.

"You know what, Ms. Rivera?" the cryptic smile returned to his face. "I just might take you up on that offer."

* * *

Early in the morning at the break of dawn, the shadow of Harold Grim darkened the footsteps of the Tonks Residence. He had been waiting there for the past few minutes, contemplating all of his life's decisions that led him to that point in life.

He really didn't want to be there.

He rapped his knuckles on the door, wishing he could disapparate before it clicked open. The knock on the door couldn't have sounded any lighter even if done with a feather. At least now, he had the plausible excuse that the residents of the house were busy sleeping when he arrived.

He spent the next few seconds gazing around the vicinity to alleviate his boredom. Plants of every kind decorated the well-maintained garden, ranging from the common Hibiscus to the rare mandrake. The gardening tools placed haphazardly in a corner indicated that magic didn't have a hand in the maintenance. His Aunt Petunia would have a fit out of jealousy if her eyes ever alighted this place.

Flower beds lined the boundary, vines crept upon the walls, dirt marred the roots but hidden beneath these common garden plants were magical herbs, growing under the sanctuary of their non-magical siblings. The pungent scent of some of the herbs was masked by the fragrance of the flowers surrounding them like guardsmen – such an ingenious way of cultivating magical flora in a muggle neighborhood. Whoever designed this garden had a wit that was far above the common witch or wizard.

His scrutiny was cut short by the click of a lock and he shifted his stare to the stunning brunette who answered the door. Despite being in her forties, Andromeda Tonks possessed a natural beauty that wouldn't wane with time. Her kind demeanor did nothing to hide her aristocratic features and hidden underneath her calm gaze was a cunning seldom seen. She was adorned in her light-blue sleeping robes, with messed up hair and bleary eyes, looking for all intents like a grumpy housewife.

Though the wand clutched in her hand would dispel any notions of her being a normal homemaker.

"I am looking for a Nymphadora Tonks?" his social skills left a lot to be desired.

If she found his behavior strange, Mrs. Tonks didn't comment. From the slight hunch of her shoulders, this must've been a common occurrence. "What did my daughter do this time?"

"Other than accessing files far above her authority, nothing much," Harry replied in a dismissive tone, hoping she'd understand that he wasn't here to haul her daughter off to Azkaban.

Mrs. Tonks released a sigh that bespoke of years of suffering. "That troublesome girl. So, you're her superior..."

"No, I'm more of a coworker," he flashed her the 'Consultant Auror' badge for confirmation. For those who could notice, Mrs. Tonks loosened her grip on the wand at the world 'coworker' and her posture lightened imperceptibly. "I'm dealing with the case that your daughter took an interest in."

"Please come in," Mrs. Tonks moved to the side to let him enter the house. "I am Andromeda Tonks, Nymphadora's mother."

"Harold Grim," Harry responded with a tilt of his head as he stepped into the hall. "And yes, even I find my family name odd."

"I'm hardly one to talk," Andromeda smiled with good humor. "Is the attire a part of the job?"

"As you know, with your daughter being an Auror, one can never be too cautious in this field."

"You can feel at home here, Mr. Grim. I am not one to see and tell."

"Harold, please," To any person, her offbeat comment might seem innocuous but for those trained to notice these little details, it was evident that there's more to Mrs. Tonks than what it seemed.

He knew that his cloak and cap made him seem not just a little dangerous, what with him hiding his visage from sight at all times. She was clever enough to suggest him to take off his cloak without actually implying it.

He took a scarf out of his cloak pocket and wrapped it around his neck, hiding the lower part of his face again. Then he shrugged off his cloak and cap before hanging them on the stand by the door.

Unlike him, Mrs. Tonks couldn't hide the smile from playing on her lips at his tactic. But her expression turned into one of shock when she noticed how _young_ he appeared. Masked by the cloak was the lean body of a teenager, dressed in a gray t-shirt and blue jeans. Unrestricted by the woolen cap, his messy black hair fell down to his neck and the sides of his face until only his sharp, blue eyes were in sight.

"I didn't know the Auror department was hiring teenagers," Andromeda remarked casually but the suspicion in her eyes was back in full force. She took a seat in the chair while gesturing at him to occupy the one opposite to hers.

"Consultant Auror, Mrs. Tonks," Harry replied without missing a beat. "I help Aurors with their cases, more like solve their cases for them."

"And what is it that my daughter did?"

"I can't reveal any of the intricate details but I am working on a missing person case and the last person who handled the case file is your daughter," Harry crisscrossed his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. "I am hoping she might know something I don't."

"She's just an Auror Trainee, Harold. She might not even know much," Mrs. Tonks frowned. "You're telling me that this info will help you solve the case?"

Harry could hardly fault her for her skepticism. People never believe in the magic that details could produce unless witnessed first-hand. "People always try to escape their past, Mrs. Tonks, but what most never realize is that the past always catches up to you."

"Powerful magical wards around a simple home, probably cast by yourself. How did I know? There's a reason I knocked so softly, Mrs. Tonks. You knew I was standing outside the moment I stepped inside the gate," Andromeda had a niggling feeling in her brain saying that she wouldn't like what was about to occur. But her guest continued uninterrupted. "Muggle appliances in the garden and kitchen despite being proficient at charms. It shows that you're averse to using magic for simple things, I can even dare to say that you hate it.

"Why? Tonks is not a Pureblood family name. It's through marriage. You must be from a reputed Pureblood family, immensely prideful of their heritage and magic; They probably _abhor_ all things muggle. Yet here you are, surrounded by muggle objects. My guess? You fell in love in school, tried to convince your parents despite knowing they'd never agree. Their reaction must've been worse than what you expected."

"So you must've eloped. Cut off contact with every aspect of your past life. You've grown so distant that you hate what you once were."

"The way you held the wand when you opened the door...it's a dueling stance – Allows quick movement while giving less area for the enemy to attack. The wards around the house and your stance indicate that you're very good at Defense Against Dark Arts and Charms. You could've been a wonderful Auror. Yet you chose to be a healer. Yes, I've noticed the magical herbs in the garden. Why?"

"One reason I'm sure is your daughter. A lot of accidents happen in my field of work, and it's even truer when you have such a fiery-spirited child. Being a healer would resolve half your worries. But before your daughter was born? There must be someone in your family, deep into the dark arts and Pureblood dogma. Someone you'd definitely have to face on the battlefield had you been an Auror. Someone very close to you."

"Am I right, Andromeda Black?" The silence that followed his rant was deafening. Harry met the eyes of Mrs. Tonks, and for a second, Andromeda felt like he was staring into her soul. " _Every detail matters._ "

It was only her Pureblood grooming that helped Andromeda to suppress the shiver that traversed down her spine. With a sigh, she responded, "Nymphadora isn't home, hasn't been for two days. Last I've seen her, she said she's helping Auror Kingsley with a case. Something related to the Quidditch World Cup."

Harry's eyes lit up at the mention of the World Cup, and his grip on his fingers tightened; The excitement was too to bear. "Then it's urgent that you tell her to meet me before the day of the Finals."

"Why?" Andromeda's hesitation disappeared at the notion that her daughter might be at harm, replaced by the cold eyes of a Black scion.

Harry shot up to his feet before replying, "The game is on, Mrs. Tonks, and the players are far above the level of a common Auror."

"What aren't you telling me?" She demanded, rising up to her feet to stand eye to eye with him.

Harry simply smiled in response. "I'd have told you already if I knew anything else. All I'm aware is that someone already started moving their pieces from the background"

Andromeda grit her teeth at the evasive reply – it was like talking to a younger Dumbledore. But there wasn't much she could do – She could hardly threaten an Auror to reveal all their secrets. "So what should I tell Nymphadora when she comes home?"

"Tell her 'Grim' was here," His smile turned into a playful smirk. Just imagining her reaction was enough to make him giddy with amusement. "She'd understand."

With that, the consultant Auror disapparated, blindly powering through all the wards she'd placed around her home. Whether his show of power was to reassure her or threaten her, Andromeda didn't know.

All she understood was that…the noise of someone walking down the steps interrupted her musings.

Ted Tonks rubbed at his eyes to shake off his sleepiness but seeing his wife standing in the middle of the hall, with her wand in hand and her face pale as a sheet, was enough to make him lose the last vestiges of sleep. "Who was that?"

"That, my dear, is the craziest man I've ever met."

* * *

Icy-blue eyes were the last thing Harry remembered of the dream. As was usual these days, his sleep last night was plagued by images of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl. While they were much better than nightmares filled with red-eyes and sickly, green light, he desired to know how a good night's sleep felt like.

The clamor of the Burrow worked as an excellent alarm, Harry mused to himself as he stretched in his bed; Although, that particular advantage was offset by Ron's snoring. His chin length bangs shielded his bright-green irises from the morning rays but they did nothing to protect him from the displeasure of an irate Hermione, who was standing at the foot of his bed with her hands on his waist.

"Can I just say you look absolutely fine in the morning?" Harry grinned roguishly, eliciting a blush and an eye-roll from his best friend. If a compliment was what it took to evade her annoyed complaints, then he was all for it.

"Sirius is a terrible influence on you," Hermione managed to reply after she regained her composure.

"I have you to balance it out, don't I?" Harry gave her a one-armed hug from his position on the bed.

Hermione shook her head with a smile, making her bushy hair bounce around her head. She glanced sideways to check up on Ron, only to find the redhead drooling on the pillow. Harry didn't need to see her scrunch up her nose to be aware of her distaste. "Wake up Ron before Mrs. Weasley comes up."

Harry responded with a nod, leaving Hermione to walk out the door but not before she glanced back at him with a frown on her lips. Harry smiled back and hoped that it was enough to alleviate her doubts for now. Once she was out of sight, Harry's smile disappeared out of trace and he fell back onto the bed with a sigh.

It was a tiring charade to hide his exhaustion behind cheerful grins. It had been a month since he had last slept peacefully, and even dreamless sleep potions weren't much help. If not for glamour charms, people would start assuming he was living a double life by night.

And that's the last thing he needed. After three chaotic years of schooling, Harry hoped that at least this year would be a normal one – if thrice is a pattern, he didn't want to know what they said about the fourth.

His early morning existential crisis was averted by the sound of Ron rising to wakefulness. Plastering the fake smile back onto his face, he turned to greet his other friend, with thoughts revolving around double-lives and a particular Slytherin.

* * *

His landing after traveling through a shoe/portkey to the location where the Quidditch World Cup Finals were occurring was less than graceful. It helped that the others didn't fare any better. He shook off the cobwebs to find the red hair of Ginny Weasley greeting his sight.

The youngest Weasley was still recovering from the precarious travel, and falling into his lap of all things didn't help matters. Suppressing a smile and a groan, he helped her to her feet before she could turn into a puddle of goo at his feet.

But to his surprise, she hardly seemed fazed when she slipped a hand around her shoulders to steady her on her feet. "Thanks, Harry."

"It's fine," Harry gave a half-smile that turned into a grin at his next statement. "Sirius told me to always help a pretty girl in need."

Ginny averted her eyes, and her blush spread down to the roots of her. While a part of him was despairing on the inside, a tiny, selfish part of him was feeling relieved that in these times of change, at least some things remained the same. He crushed that part with extreme prejudice.

Hermione elbowed him in the waist once Ginny was out of earshot. "Don't lead her on."

"I'm not," Harry mumbled with a wince. "I'm just following Sirius's advice."

"Sirius is a serial womanizer," Hermione deadpanned at his reasoning. "And his advice doesn't help when the girl has a Hogwarts sized crush on you."

"Hmm," Harry nodded as he smoothed his imaginary beard, imitating Dumbledore. "I can see your logic."

"Don't make me hit you again."

* * *

"I don't understand why we have to fetch water when we can use a simple **'Aguamenti'** ," Hermione complained as she walked beside him. "It's not like we're going to drink any of it."

"Why are you complaining when I'm the one carrying the buckets?" Harry asked dryly, dodging some of the enthusiastic Quidditch fans who jumped in his way.

"I'm not _complaining_ , Harry," Hermione tilted her chin up as though such behavior was beneath her but the flushed tips of her ears betrayed her. "It's just an academic curiosity."

Harry's reply to that particular excuse was cut off by the appearance of a familiar blue-eyed Slytherin. After seeing her so many times in his dreams, it was almost surreal to witness her in real life again. But that didn't stop him from immediately ducking behind one of the tents, dragging his best friend along with him.

"What are you -"

"Shh," Harry stopped her exposing their location to the enemy by taking the mature route of placing his palm over her mouth. "It's Greengrass!"

Hermione reacted like the adult she pretended to be by biting his hand. "Your crush, you mean."

Hermione sounded so smug at knowing a secret of his that others didn't that Harry wondered if he was one of her supposed academic curiosities.

"It's not a _crush_ , Hermione!" Harry uttered the word as though it's a notion eviler than Voldemort. "Who knows what love potions she mixed into my drinks when I wasn't looking? I'm sure the snarky git supplies the Slytherins with every potion they need."

"She didn't give you any love potions, Harry," It was evident from Hermione's tone that this was not the first time they had this discussion.

"You think it's some dark magic?" he asked in a horrified whisper.

"Yes, it's dark magic," Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose at her friend's obliviousness. "A dark magic called puberty. It's just when boys start noticing girls."

"Of course it's not puberty," Harry dismissed her answer without a moment of thought. "You went through puberty too, didn't you? It's not like I suddenly started noticing you as a girl because..."

Here he shifted his gaze from her face to her chest, as though to prove a point, and suddenly, he forgot just what he was trying to prove – such was his surprise. His friend had _grown_ in the time he hadn't seen her. Noticing it now, he couldn't figure out how on earth it had gone unnoticed by him the past few days.

He was broken out of his stupor by Hermione pushing him away from her, while she shielded her chest with her hands and glared daggers at him. But the glare was nullified by the atomic blush on her face.

Fortunately or unfortunately, her pushing him away made him land on his ass and fall right into the path of the very girl he was trying to avoid.

"What a pleasant day, isn't it, Miss Greengrass?" Harry asked nonchalantly from his position on the ground and tried to rise up to his feet with as much grace as he could – which wasn't much, if he was being honest.

Daphne Greengrass quirked an eyebrow as she stared at the scene in front of her, the simple action seeming more graceful that what he could accomplish in his entire life – though that might be his infatuation influencing him.

"Boy problems, Granger?" Daphne made it sound even more demeaning that it appeared. He hadn't thought that was possible.

"It's not what you're thinking," Harry tried to defend himself but the skeptical glance she directed his way quelled any arguments he might've had. "Okay, it's exactly what you're thinking."

Hermione smacked him on the head before he could defile her dignity any further and attempted to divert the topic. "Where are you going, Daphne?"

"Just taking a walk," Daphne replied casually, ignoring the betrayed look Harry sent towards Hermione.

He had no idea they were friends. Looking back, he must've questioned why Hermione was so accepting of this Gryffindor-Slytherin romance – It was entirely against her MO to agree to anything without making a binder of research about it.

"Mind if we join?" Hermione, the little sadist, asked nonchalantly. "We're going the same way."

' _We're not going the same way,'_ Harry screamed inside his head as he tried to murder his best friend with his looks. Hermione disregarded the looks with acquired patience.

Daphne gave a shrug in response and started walking again, followed by a triumphant-looking Hermione and a reluctant Harry.

Harry stayed silent most of the way, remaining tongue-tied in front of his crush while Hermione enjoyed the little victory as she conversed with her _close friend_ Daphne. He'd expected a betrayal of this magnitude from Ron but Hermione turned out to be the hidden Dark Lady of their little group.

Harry gathered his courage, thinking back upon his battle with the Basilisk and standing against a hundred dementors, as he tried to scrounge up a few words of interest – Not for the first time, he cursed the Durselys for his irrational fear of emotional aspects of life.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, he was cut off by the confused shouts of a group of muggles at the corner of the Quidditch grounds. The cause of their confusion stood a few meters away, surrounded by two other friends and a wand in their hand.

Three Pureblood scions were subtly charming the clothes and accessories of the muggles, making the objects fly around like annoyed birds, occasionally dragging a muggle into the air with them. What must've started as a simple act of fum must've gone out of hand, as was usually the case when bigoted Purebloods were involved.

It would've been funny if his was a shriveled heart, with the sense of humor of a rabid animal.

There was a spike of anger that bashed against his mind at their actions, and it slowly morphed into a steady thrum as one of the muggle women started bawling her eyes out as her skirt tried to imitate a parachute.

"Aren't you going to do anything, Golden boy?" Daphne commented, a teasing smirk on her face but her eyes conveyed her actual emotions. They were cold as a glacier. "I thought this was right up your alley."

It would be a cold day in hell when a Slytherin was required to goad a Gryffindor to rush head first into trouble. He'd do it anyway.

"We should call the Aurors -" Hermione tried to be the voice of reason but Harry was already moving.

There was a rage knocking at the door in his mind, waiting to be let out - Like a prisoner who's found a chance to escape. He could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins, singing at the sweet relief of release, and the door in his mind started to buckle.

The lead member of the Pureblood trio looked back at the sound of their approach, his eyes glancing over Harry and Hermione but resting upon the blank visage of Daphne. He was a brunette with eyes of the same color, adorned in elegant blue robes but the elegance was upset by a muggle leather belt he was wearing around the neck – It wasn't hard to deduce where it came from.

"Miss Greengrass, it's a pleasant surprise to find you here," the boy, who appeared to be a few older than Harry, remarked with what he must've thought to be a charming smile. "Care to join in the fun?"

"I'd pass, Adrian," Daphne's smile was a terrifying thing.

"Friends of yours, I take it?" Harry's voice could dry out a lake.

"Another one of the long list of Purebloods trying to court me," Daphne made it sound like it was a proud fact but there was no chance of mistaking her disdain for anything else.

Harry didn't understand why he was feeling so angry. It might be at the thought of all the things that rich Purebloods got away with. It might be at the reality of finding that the wizarding world he dreamed of wasn't all he hoped it would be. Or it might be that thought of nameless idiots bothering the girl he liked. But these reasons could hardly induce what he was feeling. It's natural, he appeased himself with a thought – After all, rage was meant to be irrational.

The door in his mind shattered open.

"You know that's not how you wear a belt, right?" Harry commented out of the blue. "Belts go around the waist and leashes go around the neck."

Adrian blinked in confusion and glanced back at his friends to see if they knew the green-eyed stranger. They were just as clueless. "What?"

"Belts are for people, and leashes are for dogs, Adrian," Harry explained patiently as one would to a kid. "It's fine if you can't tell what you are. Looking at you, even I can't tell the difference."

Daphne snickered out of her own accord and attempted to mask it with a cough. But the damage was done. Even if they couldn't tell what he was going on about, the insult was plain as a day, especially in the presence of another reputable Pureblood.

And his opponent acted just as he had expected.

Adrian pointed his wand at Harry, a curse on his lips, but the next moment, his wand flew out of his hand and landed in between Harry's waiting fingers.

Twirling the wand between his fingers, Harry pointed the wand at the ground and released the burst of air. The gust of wind kicked up the loose dust into the air, creating a obstructive screen between the two groups, and the next moment, two more wands came flying out of the dust and disappeared into the thick shrubbery around them.

It all happened in a blink.

The dust settled down after a second to display the dumbfounded visages of his three opponents. Bereft of their wands, the arrogance on their faces had shifted to something more natural – doubt.

"How does it feel to be to be powerless?" Harry's words pierced through the shock of his audience.

Daphne's eyes widened behind her curtain of blonde hair at the spectacle but she recovered faster than her bushy-haired friend, partly in thanks to her Occlumency practice. Obscured by her unperturbed expression, her thoughts were running a mile per second.

She knew that despite Malfoy's constant attempts to prove otherwise, Harry Potter was arguably the best at defense in their year, and probably had the best reflexes out of anyone she knew. But never had the gap seemed so insurmountable.

She hadn't even seen him take out his wand.

Adrian, who appeared to have gathered his wits, took a threatening step forward. "Do you know who I -"

"Probably from Pureblood family I don't care about," Harry interrupted impatiently with a roll of his eyes. _Everyone's so predictable_ , a part of his mind whined, _it's no fun at all_. "But your wand tells me _what_ you are."

"Birchwood, 7 and a half inches, short and stout," Harry remarked as he examined the wand. "Good for attacking and dueling. Your spells have more power than average. But that's balanced by your rigid personality, hard to change and adapt. Dragon heartstring core. You're loyal to no one but yourself. Some might even call you selfish. Nothing remarkable."

"You have the potential to be good, Adrian," Harry shifted his probing stare from the wand to its owner. "But you'll never be great."

Finished with his analysis, Harry twirled the wand one last time on his palm to bait his opponent and hurled it into a family of tents in the distance. "Go fetch."

Harry twisted on his heels, turning his back to his opponent without any concern, and started to walk away. But the devil in his mind couldn't help but take one last parting shot at the Pureblood.

"If you ever have thoughts of revenge, the name's Harry Potter," he said as he swept his bangs to the side. As was customary, Adrian's gaze moved to his forehead, settling on the lightning-bolt shaped scar. "Fourth-year student at Hogwarts and according to some people, a part-time vigilante."

Daphne had the tact to avert her eyes. Harry gave a tilt of his head in farewell as he started walking again, unaware of the pair of blue eyes staring at his retreating back with undisguised curiosity.

Deciding upon her next course of action, Daphne started following him, with an insensate Hermione close on her heels. If Daphne's gait contained a little more enthusiasm than before, nobody had commented upon it.

"That was stupid of you to give your identity away," Daphne criticized once they were a safe distance away from prying ears. She'd rather be sorted again into Hufflepuff than be seen praising the Gryffindor golden boy.

"There aren't a lot of green-eyed, messy-haired, fourteen-year-old boys I know. Experience tells me that I am easy to recognize," Harry chuckled ruefully but his humor died out quickly when he noticed that his two companions didn't find it as funny. "Suppose if I didn't tell them my name, who would they direct their ire towards?"

 _Me_ , Daphne mumbled to herself. Harry let her come to her own conclusions regarding his actions and remained silent.

"You're not what I imagined, Potter," Daphne said after a period of silence.

"And what did you imagine?" Harry asked out of interest.

"A dimwit who rushes into everything without thinking," she replied, seeming utterly unapologetic.

' _She certainly doesn't mince words,'_ Harry thought with a wince.

Daphne halted in her tracks in front of a huge, luxurious tent, and Harry caught sight of a blonde-haired, angelic woman through the opening of the flap of the tent.

"But it looks like there's more to you than what it seems," Daphne's stare was too scrutinizing for his comfort. Her usual dull, icy-blue eyes glowed with a new light at the living mystery standing in front of her.

She stepped forward, invading his personal space without mercy, and Harry felt a shiver go down his spine at the sight of the mischievous smirk playing on her lips – every dream of his these days was haunted by that very smirk. "Long hair suits you."

Harry sputtered in embarrassment, his earlier confidence disappearing in the face of a teenage girl. He swept his hand through his hair and immediately pulled it away once he became self-conscious of his actions. "Thanks?"

Daphne's smirk blossomed into a laugh as she stared his mortified form with a twinkle in her eye. "See you, Potter. Granger."

She gave a curtsy, and disappeared into the tent, leaving Harry to slowly recover his composure.

"Still think it's dark magic?" Hermione whispered from his side. She was in her own world til then, no doubt wondering about his brief one-sided duel – She'd make the Spanish Inquisition seem kind in comparison to her interrogation later, Harry was sure.

Harry sighed, shaking his head to dislodge the image of that damning smirk from his mind. It was a futile effort. "Definitely."

* * *

Daphne still wore the smile on her face once she was inside the tent. Her exhilaration was boundless when she stumbled upon new mysteries to solve, and this one promised to be _fascinating_.

Her mother, aware of her unusual quirks, simply sighed in resignation. "Who's that boy, Daphne?"

To her mother's surprise, her smile only got wider and more maniacal at the question.

"That, mum, is the weirdest boy I've ever met."

For the first time, Evelyn Greengrass was more worried for the person behind her daughter's obsession.


	2. The Corners

**Disclaimer: Suffering is never the antithesis of Joy. Appearing the same shade when seen from a distance, they're as different as an impressive Sea and the everlasting Sky. You might forget your moments filled with joy but Suffering is immortal.**

 **I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

The warmth of the day kept all his undesired thoughts at bay but the serenity of the night, cold and mingled with fright, rushed all his uncertainties to the forefront.

It was unlike him to be so cruel, especially to strangers whose actions as of then weren't unforgivable.

But replaying the scene in his mind, it felt as if he wasn't the one holding the reins an hour ago. The three young adults were probably still searching for their wands. And despite how much he tried to reject the notion, he knew that Adrian's wand would never work for him as well as it did before. Dragon Heartstring cores were fickle, and once they found the hand of a worthier owner, they instantly changed allegiances.

And it was obvious whom it deemed deserving in that moment.

Sitting by the fire in front of the Weasley tent, Harry was so lost into his thoughts that when a stray thought popped into his head, he didn't find it any stranger than usual.

' _Change is inevitable but whether it's acceptable or not is entirely up to you.'_

The thought seemed so profound and so right at that moment that Harry's relief was palpable. So it's with a resigned sigh that he shifted his musings towards the other concern of his.

Daphne Greengrass.

His mind only intensified its efforts towards making him accept that what he was feeling was intrinsic. There was a flutter in his chest at the thought of her, a warmth that started at his heart and spread to the tips of his toes and the very image of her smile sent his heart into overdrive.

Either he's down with a viral fever or he actually liked her.

"Potter!"

Even now, he could hear her whispering his name in that dulcet tone of hers.

"Potter!"

And that steady ringing wouldn't stop unless his eyes alighted upon her again.

"Harry!"

Now, that was downright weird. Even in his craziest dreams, she never called him by his first name – she was a Slytherin down to her core.

Harry nodded to himself at the sound reasoning, suppressing the urge to pat himself on the back. Then it struck his brain that if it wasn't his imagination, it must be happening for real.

He lifted his stare from the fire to gaze around in befuddlement, and his confusion only escalated when he saw Greengrass hiding behind one of the numerous tents, waving frantically at him.

He blinked once, then twice, and when she still stood there with an impatient look on her face, he rose to his feet and ambled over to her.

"What were you doing there?" she tapped her foot in agitation. "Plotting to assassinate someone?"

"Kind of," Harry replied, his mind still not comprehending the idea of her trying to visit him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

At that question, her impatience was replaced by eagerness and a glint appeared behind her pale blue irises; That should've been his first warning.

"You won't believe what just happened!" she said in a rush. He had never seen her so excited over anything, thought that was a moot point when he first noticed her only a few months ago. "Lucius Malfoy entered our tent and talked to my father about something important. I don't know what father said but Lucius left angrily. Then my father talked to my mother about something and later, she told me that we're leaving immediately after the match!"

She explained the whole thing in a single breath and hungrily breathed in more air for the next few seconds. Harry used the small time window to catch up to the lunacy that was his life.

This whole scenario was wrong on so many levels that he didn't know where to start. So he began with the most pressing question, "How often do you spy on your father?"

"That what you're worried about?" Daphne dismissed his inquiry as if it wasn't even worth answering. "It's Lucius Malfoy we should be concerned about, Potter. Who knows what crazy plans he's cooking up in the meantime."

It spoke volumes about the terrible female influences in his life – His Aunt Petunia, his best friend Hermione Granger, his Head of the House McGonagall to name a few – that he bowed to her will without question; The whole issue needed some pondering upon later, he noted down.

"They're adults, Greengrass," Harry tried to be the voice of reason. He wasn't accustomed to playing this role. "They might be discussing business deals for all we know."

"Yeah, but do you want to take that risk?" Daphne challenged, her gaze rising up to meet his head on.

There were so many warning flags popping up throughout the conversation but Harry braved through all of them like the Gryffindor he was. She was making sense and looked like she would follow up on her plans despite his approval or disapproval.

Comprehending that she was getting through to him, Daphne pushed forward, "You're always going after Draco Malfoy for whatever reason, and I'm sure your suspicions turned out to be true at times."

She knew only the barest details regarding the adventures that the Golden Trio got up to at school but she was manipulative enough to exploit his feud with Draco to her advantage.

"Now imagine Malfoy Sr. left to his own devices at such a populated and significant event," Daphne's voice could be dubbed over horror films. "Can you conceive the havoc he could create?"

Harry was reminded of his second year, arguably the worst of his three years of magical schooling, and the reason behind the entire ordeal. If Lucius Malfoy was ruthless enough to unleash a full-fledged Basilisk in a school full of children, then unleashing something of the same magnitude wasn't beyond the Malfoy Patriarch.

His decision was made before Daphne could manipulate him any further. Even if their suspicion turned out to be false, there wasn't any danger behind their little escapade, he reasoned to himself; And more time with Daphne Greengrass would mean more time to sort out his feelings. It was a win-win if he'd ever seen one.

"So, how do we find what he's currently up to?" Harry asked, his tone slowly morphing from uncertain to confident. If his brilliant green eyes contained flecks of sapphire blue, no one noticed.

"I placed a tracking charm on his cloak before he left our tent," Daphne's response was immediate. It made him wonder how often she got up to these kinds of adventures.

"I'll follow your lead then, Miss Greengrass," Harry's smile was back on his face again for the first time since his duel with the three Purebloods.

"Much obliged," Daphne curtsied, matching his smile with one of hers.

Harry cast a 'notice-me-not' charm on the both of them, overpowering the spell to soothe his paranoia, and they trudged through the little gaps between the tents, taking particular care to remain unnoticed despite the aid of magic. Their brief journey took them through the quarters of the ministry officials, and Harry used the instinctive knowledge of the Auror patrols that his mind supplied to wade through the security.

If Daphne found his info regarding the Auror patrols too accurate to be random guesswork, she didn't comment.

Their mid-morning stroll ended at the foot of an unassuming cargo tent, light green in color and indistinguishable amid the thousands of others of the same texture and size. No one in their right mind would assume Lucius would ever set foot in such a drab place and that made it perfect for everything illegal.

Daphne made a motion to move forward but Harry's hand shot up to halt her stride. He gave a tiny shake of his head, staring straight at the tent, and then made a circular motion above his head with his hand.

"We go around," he explained when she returned a blank look at his gesture. "Don't step too close to the tent. There must be detection wards, and even paralysis wards if we're unlucky."

She nodded in understanding and stepped behind him to follow his lead. They crept around the edges until they reached the back of the tent and ceased their walk when they found a spot that wasn't in clear view of other inhabitants.

"What do we do now?" Daphne asked once it was apparent that they hit a pause in their adventure. "Are you going to shatter all the wards and barge inside? Maybe make the tent disappear and show the whole world what they're scheming? Wait, can you draw them out and hit them with some obscure spell?"

Harry deadpanned as her imagination ran wild with each passing second. He put a stop to it before she could go off in tangents, "Despite what the whole school thinks, Dumbledore isn't training me in secret. I only know as much as you do, Greengrass."

Daphne deflated like a punctured balloon and the light in her eyes dimmed in intensity. "Seriously, Potter? We might as well go back if all you have are party tricks to scare schoolyard bullies."

' _It's impossible to please this girl,'_ Harry released a breath of air in exhaustion.

Ignoring his companion's growing frustration, Harry poked at the ground with his foot and stood thinking for a few seconds. He scanned the length of the tent, picturing the interior in his mind, and roughly estimated the approximate position of the denizens inside.

"Potter -"

"There's one thing you always have to keep in mind, Greengrass," Harry interrupted her before she could go on another rant. "You don't need extraordinary things to obtain extraordinary results."

Daphne furrowed her brows in confusion at the sudden bout of wisdom. "What do you mean?"

Harry withdrew his wand in response and cast a 'Serpensortia'. A green-scaled garden snake, nearly three feet in length, materialized into existence and landed on the ground with a hiss. Showing absolutely no respect towards its summoner standing a foot away, the snake started slithering away, trying to remain utterly unconcerned regarding its purpose in life.

 _/Stop/_ Harry whispered in Parseltongue, scaring Daphne out of her wits.

The snake paused its slithering and tilted its head out of curiosity. It didn't appear intelligent enough to hold a conversation with him but Harry hardly needed any banter at the moment – Daphne was doing a wonderful job of fulfilling that urge of his.

Harry dug into his pocket and retrieved the recorder he had bought at a stall that very morning – he hadn't envisioned it'd be employed for tasks more vital than a Quidditch match. He crouched down to his knees and attached the recorder to the body of the snake with a sticking charm while stroking the head of the snake to keep it calm during the whole process.

"How do you plan on getting your spy into the enemy territory?" Daphne, who had silently watched him work till then, asked in abject interest.

"We dig a hole," Harry answered as if it couldn't be more obvious.

" _We dig a hole_?" Daphne couldn't have sounded more skeptical if she tried. The entire scenario reminded her of the old detective novels she used to read as a child, where none of the actions of the protagonist made any sense until the end. She'd probably die of disappointment if there wasn't a big reveal at the finish.

"The problem with most wards is that they are designed to keep intruders and spells out, not objects," Harry replied as he transfigured a nearby piece of rock into a shovel. He then proceeded to dig a tiny hole at the base of the tent, large enough for the garden snake to slither through but small enough to remain undetectable.

/ _Get into the tent and rest until I call you again_ / Harry whispered to the snake, which had burrowed itself into the hole he had dug and looked entirely at peace. The snake lifted its head again and gave him a glance that made him feel two inches tall and thrice as thick.

It's a wonder Harry didn't bash his head out of humiliation. Tom Riddle had made it seem so easy when he controlled a forty-foot basilisk, and here he was, begging a garden snake to do his bidding.

' _The snake-faced bastard must've profited from the years of hard work of Salazar Slytherin_ ,' Harry thought vindictively to spare himself from the self-mortification.

/ _I'll be waiting outside with a snack_ / he added in a little incentive at last, thanking the gods that Daphne couldn't understand Parseltongue. She would never let him live it down.

The snake's indecision lasted only a moment and then it slipped through the hole with little effort. Harry turned back, appearing a trifle triumphant at his accomplishment, to find Daphne staring at the hole through the snake slipped through with apparent disbelief.

"That was..." she began, toiling to describe her feelings in words.

"Brilliant?" Harry supplied generously.

"Anti-climatic," she ended with a resolute nod.

Harry shrugged in defeat, mumbling about 'tough crowd' and 'impossible to impress' as he waited for his partner in crime, the mighty garden snake, to finish its job.

* * *

Daphne utilized the break in their quest to go over everything she had witnessed. This wasn't how she'd envisioned the whole thing playing out.

She certainly expected a little manipulation on her part to convince him to go along with the charade but she had assumed that the confident Harry Potter from the morning would make a reappearance once he'd agreed.

That hadn't happened at first.

She had to drag him the whole way, and she was sure he had followed her for reasons of his own. Even then, there hadn't been anything remarkable in the way he acted throughout the journey. She was starting to get disappointed, and a seed of doubt planted itself in her mind that maybe Harry Potter wasn't as fascinating as she'd hoped.

The change occurred when she was unaware.

Something must've clicked in his mind at the sight of the enemy territory, and she didn't even realize when he took the lead and she began to obey him at every turn. But unlike the situation that morning, there hadn't been any overt displays of magic or the presence of the all-encompassing aura that threatened to smother her as if she was a candle flame flickering in the wind.

The Harry Potter she was witnessing now was a whole another person as compared to the one she'd seen that morning.

This one was more analytical and wasn't prone to bouts of unanticipated craziness. There was a logic behind his every step and a patient understanding of the predicament they'd found themselves in. There was an underlying sense of caution and a calculated perception of the consequences.

Both the scenarios involved the Harry Potter she knew but it was as if he was clothed in a different attire, playing the part he wasn't familiar with and yet confident that he wouldn't go wrong.

None of it made sense, and it was all the more intoxicating for it. She was afraid she'd get addicted to this feeling if she wasn't careful.

The sound of a flap opening broke through her stupor, and she caught a glimpse of the silvery blonde hair of a man walking around the corner. Her heart stopped for a moment when she realized that lost in her musings, she'd missed Lucius Malfoy leaving the tent.

Just as Lucius glanced her way, an ethereal cloak wrapped itself around her lithe frame and she found herself in the warm embrace of her green-eyed companion.

"Shh," Harry gestured her to remain silent by placing his index finger on his lips.

Daphne frowned in bewilderment as Malfoy Sr.'s gaze passed over her but there was no glint of recognition in his gray eyes. It was only then that she recognized the cloak that encompassed her entire frame, glittering in the sunlight like a cluster of diamonds; An invisibility cloak!

Her relief only lasted a second, and fear gripped her heart again when Lucius took out his wand out of his cane to cast a spell over the area. He must be casting a presence-revealing spell, her mind supplied unhelpfully.

She could only watch in unrestrained astonishment as the spell crashed harmlessly against the cloak, showing no indication that it detected the two teenagers standing rooted in their spots.

Malfoy Sr.'s eyes lost their wariness when his spell bore no results and with a final glance in their direction out of the corner of his eyes, he swaggered forward and out of sight.

Daphne released the breath she didn't realize she was holding, and her grip remained tight on the comforting warmth by her side. An embarrassed cough made her relinquish her grasp on Harry's shirt as if burnt and she stepped away without any thought of danger she could be in.

It didn't help that Harry stood frozen in his place, with his face flushed brighter than the afternoon sun. His usual sharp green eyes were unfocused and his body radiated heat like a blazing fireplace. It wouldn't take a Slytherin to glean what made him so disoriented. She restrained the blush that threatened to creep over her neck and onto her face with visible difficulty.

Taking advantage of his distracted state, she questioned, "I didn't know you possessed an invisibility cloak, Potter."

"Why do you think I don't spend half my year in detentions in spite of all the trouble I get into?" Harry shot back in return, smartly evading her underlying query.

"I know of no invisibility cloak that can shield against detection charms," she persisted with her questioning, skillfully playing their little game.

That managed to elicit a frown out of the green-eyed boy. "To be honest, I didn't know it could do that."

"But that's not what we should be worried about," Harry added before she could interrogate him further, returning his peculiar cloak to the inside of his shirt.

Daphne set aside her curiosity, for now, adding another piece of info to the long list of bizarre things that surrounded the boy-who-lived.

* * *

 _/You can come out now/_ Harry whispered after glancing around to make sure there weren't any more surprises in the corner, waiting to spring out when they least expected them.

There wasn't any response from the inside. For a second, Harry feared that his partner in crime became the first victim of his crush's adventurous tendencies. Then he remembered how lazy the snake was, and withheld a sigh.

" **Accio** egg," Harry cast, pointing his wand in a random direction. As was usual, magic didn't care too much about semantics and only a single egg flew his way from some random tent in the vicinity. He plucked the egg out of mid-air, years of seeker reflexes aiding him in the pursuit of catching the egg safely.

He placed it in the burrow and waited a few seconds. To his annoyance and slight relief, the scaled head of the snake poked out of the tent at last and it's serpentine gaze landed on the snack. With an excited hiss, it slithered out of the hole and gobbled the entire egg at once.

Ignoring nature's idiosyncrasies and the way the snake's skin stretched to accommodate its meal, he salvaged the recorder from the snake's back and high-tailed out of there without looking back, with Daphne close on his heels. They only stopped their run when no human was in sight and leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree to catch their breath.

"Want to do the honors?" Harry handed Daphne, the mastermind behind the whole thing, the recorder.

Daphne accepted it with an excited nod, and sharing one last indecisive glance with him, she pushed the red button on the recorder's side.

Their eyes slowly widened in horror as the recording played out, beginning innocuously with a casual chitchat between acquaintances and ending with a deal made between a Death Eater and a Mercenary.

"They're planning on attacking muggles and muggleborns after the match!" Daphne said a terrified whisper. "And they're bringing in mercenaries too!"

"No, no..." Harry tried to placate her by placing his hands over her trembling ones and went over the intricate details. "The mercenaries aren't here to help the Death Eaters. We've missed a small part when whoever is in there with Malfoy moved way for some reason. I think the Death Eaters are helping the mercenaries."

"Lucius must be trying to make profit from this attack," Daphne added after a moment of thought, her face pale as the full moon. "But what do the mercenaries want?"

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, playing the whole recording again and again in his mind. "But I heard a name….Delicious...no, Delacour or something. Do you have any idea who that is?"

"Never even heard any name similar to it. Must not be a Pureblood, otherwise, I would've known," Daphne said, sounding afraid for the first time since they began the escapade. "What do we do, Harry?"

The fact that she used his first name was a sign of how rattled she was. But Harry would be damned if he knowingly put her in harm's way. "There's nothing you're going to do. You will leave as planned with your family after the match."

"And leave all those innocents to die?" she snarled angrily, her eyes flashing with a masked madness behind her blonde hair.

If Harry had any allusions regarding the hidden agenda behind her actions that day, they disappeared at that moment. Manipulative, cunning, and crazy though she might be, she wasn't a bad person.

"I'll take care of it," he tried to reassure her but she was beyond reasoning.

Only then did she register that throughout their argument, he hadn't alluded as to what he would be doing. "And what the hell do you think you can do? They are Death Eaters and Mercenaries, Harry! This is not like –"

" **Daphne!** " Harry yelled in a whisper, and there was a spine-chilling shade to his tone that silenced her in an instant. His aura roared back to life like a heavenly conflagration, literally crushing her with its intensity. " **I'll take care of it.** "

Daphne could only nod dumbly at the finality of his words.

If only she had probed a little harder, she'd have noticed that the person who answered her question was not the boy-who-lived, but a cold-blooded killer, with eyes the same shade of green as the Killing Curse.

* * *

When the Sun reached its zenith in the cloudless sky, a cloaked figure stepped foot into the Auror base camp in the Quidditch grounds. His sapphire blue eyes scanned over the individuals in the tent and settled on a bubbly-pink haired woman standing to the side, bent over a map of the place.

He lurked over to the Auror trainee and peeked over her shoulder at the map. Wooden figurines denoting Aurors were placed at key points, and countless dots were spread in clusters all over the parchment. In the trainee's hand laid a multi-colored figurine, evidently signifying a metamorphmagus, and he could see her brainstorming over her placement on the grounds.

"You can guard the entrance," he whispered into her ear, pointing at the gates of the Arena. "This way, you will know who's entering and who's leaving at all times."

The metamorphmagus was so engaged with her assessment that she didn't even glance back before replying with a cheerful grin. "Yeah, that would work!"

She placed her figurine at the gates and turned back to thank her co-worker but surprise took over features at the sight of his blue irises. Surprise and clumsiness were never a good combination.

Her feet slipped on plain ground and just as she was about to crash over the table, Harry slipped a hand around her waist and righted her into her previous position. "I see you're as clumsy as ever, Dora."

Her pink hair altered into an angry red. "And you're as annoying as ever, Grim."

"Harold, please."

"Not as long as you keep calling me 'Dora'."

Their stares clashed for a moment until Harry declared their mini-battle by averting his gaze. Tonks seemed a tad triumphant but it only lasted until he spoke again. "I remember leaving my cloak at your house."

He thought she couldn't be angrier at him. He was wrong. "It's a cheap shot to involve my mother in this."

"No matter what you think, that's not my intention," Harold attempted to mollify her but his halfhearted justification won him no points. "I wouldn't have had to do that if you weren't ignoring me."

"And if you hadn't accessed files way above your pay grade," he added, sounding dry as paper.

His dismissive tone only incensed her further. It had always been an internal strife of hers that someone who was younger than her and joined months later was allowed to handle all the high-profile cases while she was stuck with babysitting old crones from the Wizengamot.

It didn't help that his arrogance was only outmatched by intelligence.

She grit her teeth in helplessness, as every point he had made against her was valid. She could hardly justify herself to the Ministry that she was also working for the Order of Phoenix behind the scenes.

Tonks gave him a hateful glare and dug into her backpack to retrieve his cloak. If the cloak was burnt at places and had missing patches, it was only due to her _clumsiness_ as he had called it.

Harry accepted his cloak with an amused curve of his lips and promptly vanished it once it fell into his hands.

"Leaving clothes at each other's houses already?" Kingsley chose the worst moment to intervene. "Is there anything I should know about?"

"Shut up, Kingsley." / "Shut up, Shacklebolt." Both of them directed their irate looks at the hapless Auror at once.

Kingsley raised his arms in surrender and fled over to another group of Aurors standing a few meters away.

"If you're done with your petty squabble, I'd like to know what you're doing here, Harold," the newly instated Head Auror, Amelia Bones, called over from her seat at the main desk.

"I'd hardly call it petty, Amelia," Harry turned to face his superior with an easy-going grin on his face – not that she could see it. Amelia gave him a long look that perfectly conveyed how much she cared about their little spats – less than Minister Fudge's IQ. "Well, at least I'm done with it."

She beckoned him over with a nod, and Harry collapsed in one of the chairs in front of her, disregarding the sour look of Auror Dawlish, who was seated adjacent to the consultant Auror. If Amelia gave a damn about his disrespect, Harry was certain that she had no qualms about telling it to his face.

"I'm here to see how our esteemed Aurors are dealing with providing security to the audience," Harry shrugged as if he wouldn't really be here if he had anything else to do.

"You don't have to worry, _Consultant_ Auror," Dawlish sneered, giving the blue-eyed teenager a condescending look. "We have it all under control."

"Yes, I'm sure all the masterminds we have in our department are doing an excellent job," Harry drawled sarcastically. "The only issue is that there aren't any."

Dawlish rose out of his seat in anger and leaned towards Harry in an intimidating manner. "I won't tolerate –"

"Maintain some distance, Dawlish," Harry leaned back with an exaggerated expression of disgust. "You still reek of the brothel you visited last night."

Dawlish sputtered in denial but the involuntary, wary glance he threw the Head Auror's way all but confirmed it. "Your accusations have nothing to do with the security we arranged here. You need experience to manage everything at such a significant event."

"Big words," Harry remarked offhandedly. "Let me guess, you allocated most of the senior Aurors to guard the top box filled with dignitaries and the rest of them stay with the Quidditch players in their barracks. Mid-level Aurors deal with handling the crowd in the lower levels and patrolling the arena while the low-level Aurors and the trainees stay outside the stadium to look for anything alarming."

"Am I right?" he finished, his tone betraying a self-assurance that bordered on arrogance.

Dawlish could only gape in disbelief and his mouth opened and closed to form words but none came out. Amelia, who was too used to his brilliance for her own good, massaged her forehead to curb an oncoming headache.

"Did you find any faults in that, Harold?" she asked with her fingers crossed in front of her, leaning forward in interest. Her monocle reflected the ambient light with a glare, hiding the unknown emotion in her stare.

"Better question would be whether I found anything right with that," Harry said apathetically. "and my answer would be, nearly nothing."

Amelia released an exhausted sigh at his theatrics and gestured at him to put forward his thoughts with a wave of her hand.

"Assign all the low-level Aurors to the top box. The dignitaries come with their own protection, so wasting any manpower there wouldn't make any sense. Advise them to alert the rest of the Aurors immediately at the slightest sign of trouble," Harry said, meeting Amelia's unnerving stare. "Mid-level Aurors will be guarding the gate with a similar set of instructions. All the senior Aurors should take care of the crowd and patrolling so that they're at a reachable distance from both the top box and the gates."

"And then comes the most crucial part. The senior Aurors should leave the stadium along with the crowd, mingling with the common populace – hiding in plain sight and all that – and stay at the tents to make sure any rambunctious idiots or unsavory individuals don't take advantage of the post-match excitement to create any chaos."

Done with his pitching, Harry leaned back in his chair and waited for the Head Auror to make her decision. Amelia stayed silent for a few nerve-wracking minutes and then shouted to the rest of the Aurors in the camp. "We'll be following the consultant's plan. I'm sure every one of you was listening in on our discussion so I hope the strategy doesn't need repeating. Am I clear?"

Some of the Aurors raised their voices in protest but an imperial stare from the Head Auror subdued any discontent. "Am I clear?" she restated.

There was no noise this time. Amelia gave a satisfied nod and went back to whatever she was doing before Harry set his foot in.

Having played his part, Harry jumped to his feet and bowed his head in farewell, eliciting an inquisitive glance out of the Head Auror. "Where are you going, Harold?"

Harry skipped away from her desk towards the exit and glanced back at her question. "Looking at the dismal state of affairs, I think it's time I make some preparations of my own."

Her blank expression morphed into a frown. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see," Harry gave a jaunty wave and disapparated in a blink.

"I hate it when he does that," Amelia declared in vexation.

The entire Auror camp was in silent agreement.


	3. Devil's Playground

**Disclaimer: Hidden within the depths of every mind is a monster waiting to be unleashed. Shackled by the society and contained by our connections, it's in a deep slumber, growing with our pain and suffocating at our happiness. What does it mean to be human? Embracing our inner monster or forsaking it?**

 **I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

As the evening Sun descended into the gloomy depths of the night, the devil ascended into existence.

His hair was a vibrant red, appearing as if coated in blood, and his eyes were a pale shade of green, similar to the Killing Curse's sheen. His face was obscured by a mask, pure white in color and bone-like in texture, with a red lightning bolt splitting the mask in the middle. He slithered through the pathways, ducking and weaving between objects and people, and remaining perplexingly unnoticed by animals and humans alike.

The only sign that he even passed by them was the shiver that traversed down the spines of everyone he came across. They couldn't explain the instinctive fear that gripped their hearts but hurried in their steps with vigilance.

His stride ended at a cargo tent, a shade of green appearing a touch lighter than his eyes, and surveyed the scene. Death's invisibility cloak was wrapped around his entire frame, and it writhed and shifted like a passionate lover under his robes.

Uncaring of the wards placed around the tent, the man walked forward with a confident gait, but not before placing an Anti-Apparition Jinx of his own around the vicinity. It wouldn't do if his prey fled before the hunt began.

The wards could only flicker uncertainly, their magic sensing a presence but their actions bound by the ethereal cloak. No wards could ever stop Death from taking its toll and the cloak contained a shred of the very deity's power. In the hands of a powerful Sorcerer, it's that much more effective.

And there's scarcely anyone more powerful than the Mercenary, Reaper.

His wand appeared in his hand at a flick of his wrist and raising it above his head, he slashed it diagonally and twisted it forward. The entrance to the tent collapsed like a stack of cards. Not stopping there, he cast a dozen stunners in the span of a few seconds, not even giving the person inside the tent a chance to retaliate.

The Mercenary waiting inside, still a fearsome wizard in his own right, immediately cast the most powerful shield he could produce and could only watch in horror as the stunners struck his shield like bullets. His shield managed to stop the first few but when a crack started to appear in his defense, he cut off the spell and jumped to his right in alarm.

The rest of the stunners hit the back of the tent, scorching the thick canvas and generating wisps of acrid smoke.

Not giving his prey any time to recover, Reaper sent a dark, cutting curse at the disoriented man. With reflexes that far surpassed any Death Eater, the mercenary ducked under the spell and retaliated with a blasting curse.

Reaper deflected the spell with the tip of his wand and let the curse hit the ground in front of the mercenary. It exploded with a band and shards of rock rained upon the mercenary, who transfigured a nearby chair into a makeshift shield to block the incoming barrage.

But the shield in front of the mercenary obstructed his view of the enemy and Reaper took the opportunity to send an overpowered piercing hex at the man. The hex drilled through the mercenary's shield like paper and in an amazing display of battle instincts, the man shifted his body to his left.

The spell was too fast and too powerful for the mercenary to escape unscathed. The piercing hex grazed through the right arm of the mercenary, shredding his skin and muscles to the bone. The mercenary let out a loud yell of pain but fortunately, the man was left-handed. His wand arm blurred into motion and whip made of pure fire cut across the expanse between the Reaper and the Mercenary.

Reaper calmly leaned back to avoid the whip but the spell reversed its direction mid-flight and it sprung back to attack him again. The green-eyed teenager ducked under the lash, the scorching heat of the spell threatening to burn away a few of his hairs, and made another diagonal, slashing motion with his wand as he stood back up again.

A depression formed in the air between the two duelists and it raced forward like a blade towards the mercenary. The man could only form another shield in desperation but the spell shattered the shield like glass and struck the man straight on his torso.

The mercenary's chest caved in and his lower ribs splintered in an instant. His intestines twisted upon themselves and the man hurled out the contents of his stomach onto the ground. The man's bellow of agony would've woken up the entire village of match goers if not for the silencing wards of the tent.

Reaper sent a stunner at the defenseless man to put him out of his misery and the man lost consciousness before he could even lift a finger in resistance.

* * *

When the mercenary returned to the land of the living, he found himself shackled to a chair, with a pair of green eyes staring at him with frightening intensity.

"Hello, Mylos," Reaper greeted with false cheer, with his knees bent and feet on his chair. He twirled the mercenary's wand between his fingers – an annoying habit he couldn't seem to get rid of. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Who the fuck are you?" Mylos spat with disdain. If the sight of his wand in enemy's hands caused any apprehension, the mercenary didn't show it.

"I think I'm more famous by name than appearance," Reaper said thoughtfully, a touch of wistfulness to his tone – he eagerly waited for the day the sight of him sent people running. "Reaper, the up and coming mercenary."

"Reaper?" there was a disconcerting tenor to Mylos's tone but he masked it with acquired skill. "Didn't know you became the attack dog of the French Auror."

"Pot calling the kettle black," Reaper retorted without any ire. "At least I'm not making deals with Death Eaters. Death Eaters, Mylos? Your standards have fallen."

Mylos appeared a touch perturbed at Reaper's knowledge of his plans but he managed to respond with venom. "Anything to get the job done."

"I've always liked your dedication," Reaper said, twirling the wand between his fingers faster. "I'd like to say that I'll let you go if you tell me how many other mercenaries you have working under you, but I'm not Lucius Malfoy. I hate making deals."

The enemy's wand lighted up a violent red, and the tip began to smoke and sizzle. Reaper broke the wand with a twist of his fingers and stabbed the mercenary's right-hand palm with the upper half. Mylos couldn't suppress the cry that broke out of his mouth. The skin around the perforated area began to burn and the cries turned into screams.

The screams only served to heighten Reaper's bloodlust – There's something about the prey's haunting melody of pain that resonated with the hunter.

"Feeling cooperative?"

"Suck my –"

The lower half of the wand went straight through Mylos's left hand and the subjugated moans of the mercenary escalated to muffled yells. Reaper watched unconcernedly as Mylos heaved and panted under the strain, his visage looking like a bloated tomato with all the blood rushing to his face.

Torture was an ineffective method, Reaper knew. More often than not, it only worked on inexperienced individuals who lack conviction, and Mylos was anything but an amateur. But the torture worked an as excellent factor to lower all and any Occlumency barriers that the victim had.

Pain begets clarity and torment disrupts it just as well.

Mylos glanced up, at last, only to find a wand placed squarely between his eyes. His brown eyes rose up to gaze into the pale-green ones of his attacker, and the folly of his action struck his brain; It was too late.

" _Legilimens!"_

Reaper's probe was a brute force attack, lacking any stealth or subtlety. The already weakened Occlumency barriers of the mercenary folded like paper under the impact. A human's mind was a mess of a million thoughts and emotions, and the mind of an Occlumens was only marginally better. It was like searching for a single file in a computer or a sheet of parchment in the Hogwarts Library – Organized though they might be, it didn't make the task any less herculean.

So, Reaper narrowed his search to the memories created in the past month, and all the thoughts related to killing and French. A web of tangled spires of information greeted his probe and he traveled down the most probable route to settle down a single line of thought.

' _Seven ain't necessary for a teenage girl,' Mylos argued with his benefactor. 'There will be five…"_

' _What if it isn't enough, you say?' the mercenary raised his eyebrows at his benefactor's skepticism. 'I have a plan for that…terrorist groups...Quidditch...the name's what? Flower? ...Oh, Fleur."_

Satisfied with his haul, Reaper withdrew from the mind of his prey and Mylos's head lolled down to his chest. The mercenary was breathing but only barely and there was a line of drool slipping down the corner of his mouth.

No mind could handle a battery of such strength. He had seen people losing lives before he could gain any information he needed – it was fortunate that Mylos was an accustomed practitioner of Occlumency.

Twirling his wand one last time between his fingers, Reaper slashed his wand horizontally to release a cutting charm that sliced straight through the man's neck. The head dropped to the ground at the force of gravity and settled at the feet of the green-eyed teenager.

Reaper gave the severed head an apathetic glance and transfigured it into a mini-sized horn to pocket it, resisting the urge to leave his signature trademark on the ground – Mylos, being the infamous assassin he was, would amount to quite the bounty in the international market.

The headless man was enough of a hint that…

Reaper was here.

* * *

Dominique Delacour listened with half an ear as his daughter rambled on about something or the other – she was such a lively girl, and it was one of his greatest regrets that in contesting to become the Minister of France, he put her life in danger.

But with rising tensions in the British Isles and the deteriorating relationship with the MACUSA, the people preferred a war-time leadership to a peacetime one. And him being the esteemed Auror and patriot he was, acquiesced to the demands of the Parliament and the people.

It was then that he realized just how many enemies he had made over the years.

But there was a reason why his people trusted him and part of it was because Dominique Delacour held no reservations towards doing what's necessary.

And if mercenaries were required to deal with mercenaries, he'd hire the best of them to ensure his family's safety.

" _I heard our wards now are some of the strongest in the country, Papan!"_ Fleur remarked in wonder as she gazed up at the invisible wards around their mansion. _"Headmistress herself had a hand in this, didn't she?"_

" _Yes, Flower,"_ Dominique confirmed distractedly, his thoughts still on all the plans he still needed to make.

" _Then it must be right,"_ Fleur nodded resolutely as if no one could argue her point any further. _"Our Headmistress cast some of the wards around Beauxbatons, and everyone knows our defense is the best in the country. Her charm work is second to none."_

" _Then why do you still worry so much?"_ Fleur mumbled in a defeated tone, knowing that there's nothing she could say to make her father take a moment of rest. _"No one can infiltrate our home now!"_

Dominique's reply to that particular assertion appeared directly behind the Veela, silent as a ghost and scarier than one.

"Did I come at the wrong time?" Reaper asked in a casual tone, as though he hadn't apparated directly into the main chambers of the mansion.

Fleur jumped out her seat in fright, a hand on her chest to calm her thudding heart. She twisted on her heels to see the intruder and stepped back in alarm as a bone-white mask greeted her gaze. The green-eyes of the stranger panned over her visage without a hint of absent-mindedness in his stare despite standing inches away from the Veela and then he dismissed her without a second glance.

Fleur would have been affronted if she wasn't so terrified. There was something about the stranger that made her natural instincts scream at her to get away from him and the bone-chilling aura that permeated the room at his entrance felt more potent than her allure. Her hand went to her wand but her father's voice halted her motion before she could withdraw it.

"No," Dominique said calmly. Fleur didn't know if it was directed at her to stop her before she did something or if it was for the stranger's benefit. Knowing her father, it must be both. "Fleur here was just about to leave."

" _What? But –"_ Fleur tried to argue but a sharp look from her father made her cease her dissent. She gave the stranger a passing glance as she walked out of the room, with her eyes narrowed in thought and a frown on her flawless face.

"You didn't tell me you were about to visit," Dominique remarked offhandedly but there's a hint of reprimand to his tone.

"Hoping to predict disasters is a fool's errand, Dominique," Reaper replied without remorse. "You can only do your best to prepare for them."

Reaper removed the miniature horn from his pocket and placed it on the mahogany table. "Believe me, it's better to leave it transfigured."

"And what's this?"

"The head of the mercenary group sent to kidnap your daughter is losing his head over this whole thing," Reaper chuckled, a sound that resembled a knife chipping away at an iron block. "I saved him the trouble and removed it."

Dominique unconsciously leaned an inch backward – nobody liked a human head on their table. But he steeled his nerves and decided to do away with his curiosity. "Any idea who it is?"

"I'm sure you know him by name," Reaper said as he flicked the horn with a finger. "He goes by the title 'Mylos', an American hit-wizard turned mercenary."

Dominique sucked in a breath. Whoever the enemy was, they weren't cutting any corners this time. "Was there anyone else with him?"

"No," the mercenary answered. "But there will be more. Four of them will be targeting her at the Quidditch Finals."

"What!" Dominique seemed rattled out of his wits. "Then I'll immediately cancel –"

"You'll do no such thing," Reaper's voice cut through the air. "Better to deal with them when we have the chance than wait for them to attack at an inopportune time. They'll keep coming until they get their target. That's what mercenaries do."

"Of course, you'll know," the French Auror snapped in agitation.

"Yes, of course," Reaper remarked dryly. "You have to remember I'm not the enemy here, Dominique."

Dominique remained silent.

"You don't want me as your enemy."

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees and Dominique gulped in unease. "...So, what's the plan?"

"There's no... _plan_ ," Reaper waved it off as though such a notion was beneath him. "Your enemy has a plan. And I will disrupt it."

"What should I be doing then?"

Reaper rose from his seat and lazily walked back. "Never ask others what _you_ should be doing, Auror. You should have your own clarity in life."

A cold breeze flowed through the windows, billowing the curtains, and flashing the moonlight ominously onto the bone-white mask of the mercenary. "My suggestion? Sit back and enjoy the fireworks."

As the curtains settled down, Dominique found himself alone in the chamber. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple and landed on the table beside the transfigured head, drawing the contours of the horn into sharp relief under his gaze.

Dominique was staring silently out of the window when his wife entered the chambers a few minutes later.

" _You shouldn't be so harsh with her, Dom,_ " his wife, Apolline, rebuked as she stood behind him. "S _he's visiting after so many months and it's only natural for her to want to spend time with you._ "

" _The situation demanded it, Angel,"_ Dominique sighed regretfully. _"If I had a choice..."_

Dominique went silent without finishing his sentence, his countenance holding so many emotions that he couldn't express it in words. His wife, as insightful as ever, understood that it had something to do with their visitor.

" _Who was that, Dom?"_

" _That, Angel, is the scariest man I've ever_ _known."_

* * *

Harry climbed the steps to the top box of the Quidditch Stadium, feeling the imaginary weight on his shoulders double with each ascent.

'Ignorance is bliss,' the statement never sounded truer as he watched his friends look around in excitement, placing bets among themselves and quarreling over trivial things. Knowing that at the finish of the match, the Death Eaters would begin enacting their plan hung like an anchor on his mind.

He reached the top box to find the Minister of Magic, Fudge, shaking hands with dignitaries from other countries and another wave of disgust welled within him. The fact that Fudge was waving at him excitedly to beckon him over didn't alleviate his displeasure.

He plastered a fake smile – he was becoming an expert at it these days – he ambled over to the pudgy Minister and gave a slight bow, disregarding the extended hand of Fudge; He didn't want to know the places those hands traversed to.

Fudge was as oblivious as ever and placed a hand around Harry's shoulders and introduced him to the Bulgarian Minister. "Harry Potter…Boy-who-lived," Fudge enunciated each word as if the Bulgarian Minister didn't understand English.

Judging by the slight shake of the Bulgarian Minister's shoulders, the man was happy to play along with the game. The Bulgarian Minister extended a hand with a commiserating look of misery on his face as he gestured at Fudge and Harry could at least find momentary comfort in a kindred soul.

"Now, Harry," Fudge didn't even give him a moment to rest before parading him over to the new couple who entered the top box. "This is the French to-be Minister Dominique Delacour and his wife..."

Fudge went slack-jawed at the sight of the French Minister's wife and even though a part of Harry cringed internally, he could understand what got the Minister so captivated.

Mrs. Delacour appeared like an angel who descended to Earth. Lustrous blonde hair that glowed despite the dimness of the arena, twinkling blue eyes that shone like gems, and a face carved out of marble. She seemed like perfection given form.

"This is my wife, Apolline Delacour, and behind her is my daughter, Fleur Delacour," Dominique continued the introductions unperturbed as if he was used to such a scene.

It was only then that Harry noticed that the entire populace of the top box appeared to have entered a trance, their eyes dull and their postures slackened.

"You definitely know how to make an entrance," Harry said without thought.

Judging by the expressions on the visages of the Delacour family, he wasn't the only one surprised by the remark. Then Dominique broke the tension with a chuckle and extended his hand forward for a handshake.

"You live up to your name, Mr. Potter," Dominique commented as he shook Harry's hand.

Harry had no idea what he did to elicit such a remark but he accepted it with grace. Apolline seemed more at ease now that he wasn't praying at her feet like the others. But there was a curiosity lurking behind her glances.

Then their daughter stepped forward and he understood what charm enchanted the entire top box.

If her mother was an angel, then Fleur Delacour looked like a goddess. Lush, silver hair glided down her shoulders, framing her beautiful face like a bride's veil. Her eyes were a pearly shade of blue, containing an innocence that was as charming as it was captivating. Thin, rosy lips contrasted against her pale skin and her body could lead a saint to sin.

He couldn't shift his eyes away from her and he probably wouldn't have for all eternity if the Greengrass family hadn't entered the box just then.

His eyes alighted upon the stunning radiance of Daphne Greengrass and his senses stormed back to full tilt. The issue at hand flashed to his mind at the sight of his crush and a name rushed to the forefront of his mind. Delacour.

Holy hell. The deal between the Death Eaters and the mercenaries; It had something to do with the Delacour Family.

But the French Minister appeared entirely at ease, as though he didn't have terrorist groups and assassins after his family. Did he know? Had he already made plans? Was that why he was looking so calm?

A million questions assaulted his brain and Harry gave the Delacour family an apprehensive smile before slipping away to a lone corner to gather some time to think.

* * *

For the second time that day, someone ignored her allure as if it wasn't there.

At first, Fleur didn't perceive what impressed her father about the lean, unassuming, green-eyed boy. She saw how mesmerized he was at the sight of her and figured her allure was at play on the mind of another vulnerable teenager.

Then the boy dared to shift his stare away from her to look at another blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl behind her. Fleur glanced back at the regal-featured girl, finding her to be a beauty that could rival her own but that girl wasn't a Veela. And it was common-sense that Veela always had an upper hand in a battle of appearances. It was as absolute as it was unfortunate.

But that boy had the same look of rapture when staring at the other girl. Maybe he had a fetish for the blue-eyed ones? Whatever it might be, she just might've found a person who was immune to her allure.

This demanded more experimenting.

Lost in her thoughts about the green-eyed oddity, she ignored a part of her mind that kept nagging at her that she had seen an almost similar set of fascinating green-eyes on another person that very same day.

* * *

Harry leaned by the barrier at the edge of the top box, peeking down at the pitch as he waited for the teams to appear. Daphne acted like she didn't know who he was as she sat beside her father and he consoled himself by presuming that she didn't want to let her father know about their budding friendship; A boy could hope.

"Wotcher, Harry," A pink-haired woman dressed in Auror robes came to stand by him, with a mile-wide grin on her face.

He had no idea who she was and why she was so happy at seeing him. "I'd like to say that I remember who you are but I honestly don't."

Her grin bubbled into a laugh. "You don't know me, Harry. We never met at our time in Hogwarts. I'm Tonks. Proud, former Hufflepuff."

Harry sighed in relief, disregarding the fact that she hadn't told her full name. "Harry Potter, as you know. Confused Gryffindor. I'm hoping you're here to give me company?"

Judging by her unending cheer, he supposed it's her default state – he certainly wasn't that funny. "Nah, I am part of the security. Thought it's better to stay here with you than with those grumpy politicians."

"I'm better company than Fudge?" Harry gave an exaggerated gasp of disbelief, with a hand placed over his heart. "Don't flatter me, young miss. You've already made my day."

Tonks restrained her giggles with a fist. "You know what, Harry? I think we'll get along pretty well."

"My life will do its best to prove you wrong," Harry said ruefully but he had a smile playing on his lips.

Their bonding was interrupted by the whole stadium rising to their feet, hollering and jumping out of their seats in some cases. Harry looked down at the pitch to find a dozen or more exotic females dancing sensually, making the whole crowd go mad. People in the top box rushed to the barrier, performing over the top stunts in an effort to catch the attention of the females.

Harry didn't understand what's the big deal. So he asked the young Auror beside him, "Is there something I'm missing?"

Tonks stared at him with wide eyes. "You aren't affected?"

Harry could feel a slight tingle in his brain and the figurative sense of a steady knocking on a door returned. He was feeling a rush of adrenaline but it's more similar to what he felt when he was dealing with Adrian and his duo of friends than what he was witnessing here. "Should I be?"

"They're Veela, Harry," Tonks explained with a sideways glance at the mascots of Bulgaria. "Magical creatures that can enchant males with their allure. It's near irresistible at full capacity. You're a boy, aren't you?"

"Hey! Don't blame me," Harry said defensively. The steady knocking in his mind only amplified the longer the Veela stayed. He was anxious about what would happen if he was exposed to more of it.

Thankfully, the Veela stopped their dance after a few seconds, prompting groans of disappointment from all the males in the stadium. Harry released the breath he didn't realize he was holding as the knocking in his mind ceased abruptly.

Then the match began, pushing all the thoughts about his peculiar reaction to the allure from his mind.

* * *

Meanwhile, Fleur was watching the whole scene with a narrow-eyed stare. It was suspicious when he managed to hold off her unfocused allure but his lack of reaction to a Veela coven confirmed her doubts.

Allure acted like a compulsion charm on the male's mind, triggering all the hormones that lead to physical attraction and arousal. A master Occlumens could resist most of the effects but even then, it's impossible to completely ignore it. It's why it's so hard for Veela to figure out whether their lover was attracted to them or attracted by their charm; Both instances produced similar physical reactions.

Harry Potter was immune to the effects of allure. Somehow.

She suppressed the excitement that threatened to well up within her. It wouldn't do become hopeful before she fathomed the reason behind his resistance – it might be something specific to the boy-who-lived. After all, no one could still discern how he survived the Killing Curse. This might be an after-effect or the cause behind his victory against the Dark Lord.

So, she paid no heed to the Quidditch Finals and began to discreetly direct her allure at the green-eyed boy. She saw his body jolt in surprise as her allure hit him but he didn't even turn back.

It only served to make her more determined.

* * *

Harry was watching the match with half a mind – he liked Quidditch because he loved flying, not because he loved to watch a dozen males zoom around in the air for hours. Tonks was busy looking around for hidden threats and occasionally following the game, and Daphne made it her mission to not even glance at him once during the entirety of the game.

He didn't anticipate that boredom would be one of the issues he'd be tackling that night.

He was surveying the pitch for a glimpse of the snitch when the tingle hit his mind again. This time it didn't stop after a few minutes. Throughout the game, his body writhed in barely contained energy as the tingles traversed down his nerves again and again.

It was as though someone was hitting him with an energizing spell repeatedly.

Nerves began to pop under his skin and the steady knocking on the door turned into an incessant ramming. Adrenaline started to shoot through his veins like blood, pushing him to the edge with each passing second. His body was like a figurative balloon and someone kept filling in air, as though waiting to see when he'd burst.

His fingers began a steady drum on the wooden barrier and his foot tapped the floor in an unknown rhythm. His eyes flickered from one side to the other, and when a glitter of gold raced scant inches further from the top box, he leaned forward and swiped it out of thin air.

The golden snitch fluttered in his palm.

Fleur couldn't believe that he dared or even managed to catch the snitch. The sheer ridiculousness of his action made her stop her casting in befuddlement and Harry used the reprieve to pant in relief. He didn't what made the tingles stop but he sent a prayer of gratitude. He couldn't fathom what craziness he might get up to if the rush of energy persisted.

But there was a restless snitch in his hand and he didn't know what to do with it. The devil in his mind encouraged him to sow chaos, so he turned to the closest adult, who happened to be the unfortunate metamorphmagus.

"Tonks!" he called in a whisper, placing the hand containing the snitch in his pocket. "I have a little problem."

Tonks turned to face him and immediately noticed the twitching bulge near his pocket. "Yikes, Harry! Have some shame!"

"What?" Harry furrowed his brows in confusion. Then he glanced down to see how it appeared from other's perspective. His face flushed as if caught on fire. "It's not what you think it is, Pervert! I have the snitch in my pocket."

He retrieved the snitch and flashed it to her discreetly. Tonks's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, literally – Harry could swear his invisibility cloak that there's some magic bullshit involved.

"How did you get it?"

"I caught it."

"You caught it?!" Tonks didn't know whether to yell at him or congratulate him. "You're not the seeker here, Harry."

"I did it out of instinct," Harry tried to justify in vain. "What do I do now?"

"It's Azkaban to you if people find out you meddled with the game," Tonks's lazy expression conveyed absolutely nothing about the gravity of the situation. Knowing her for the short duration he did, Harry couldn't understand if she was joking or not.

"Azkaban? People at least get a trial for murder," Harry said, affronted. "These British people really need to get their priorities straight."

"So, what are you going to do now?"

"I'm just gonna release it."

"Just release it?" Tonks looked like she couldn't wrap her mind around why he sounded so nonchalant. "What if people notice?"

"They didn't notice me catching it, did they?" he replied, looking for all intents like it made complete sense.

Tonks had no answer to that. So she gave a shrug and decided to keep vigil for him. Harry remembered that the Weasley twins bet that Krum would catch the snitch so he released it when Krum came the closest to the Top Box.

Only three people were aware of the match-fixing that occurred at the Quidditch World Cup Finals, '94.

* * *

An inferno blazed near the tents after the Quidditch Finals, engulfing the entire arena in a storm of fire. Fifteen hooded figures, wearing silver, demonic masks ambled through the soot and dust, paying no heed to the screams of terror and wails of agony.

After all, that was their intention.

A dozen bodies littered the grounds, amputated and charred, creating a scene straight out of the visions of hell. A man ran along with his family of four, shielding his wife and children with his body, and he abruptly dropped dead to the ground.

The wife shrieked in terror and the next moment, her voice was silenced. The two muggleborns stumbled back in fright, their backs hitting a burning tent. The elder sister pushed her brother behind her, bravely brandishing her wand in defense.

The Death Eater walked forward, fearless of the wand in her hand. A flick of the hand of the lead Death Eater relived the girl of her wand and another sent her flying into the burning tent. The brother shouted in shock and ran inside the tent, hoping against hope that his last living family wasn't lost to the world.

Just as the fire was about to overwhelm the tent's foundation, the fire stilled as if it's frozen. The Death Eaters glanced at each other in bewilderment, wondering if it was the handiwork of one of their comrades.

The flame began to writhe and twist and rose into the sky in a crescendo before descending to the ground like lightning. The onslaught of fire and gravel that accompanied the attack encompassed the surroundings, obscuring everything from sight.

The Death Eaters began to mumble among each other in alarm, expert four masked figures who readied themselves for the fight of their lives.

The conflagration of fire and dust settled and began to take form of a man, dressed in a simple blue shirt and jeans. But what caught the attention of the entire group was the blood-red hair and the bone-white mask of the interloper.

Then the figure began to speak. "Hello, Gentlemen! Thank you for attending the game."

The wand in the interloper's hand began to twirl between his fingers and a cackle resounded throughout the suddenly silent arena. " **I** **am** **the post-match entertainment!"**


End file.
